Highland Dragon

by Kimberly Killion

  “Your laird wants ye to learn a trade and will only allow ye on the training field after your lesson. Now count to one hundred aloud in French today while ye wiggle each of Isobel’s toes twenty times.”

  “Aye, m’lady.”

  Once Andrew focused on his duty, Akira moved to add a brick of peat to the fire and set water to warm in the iron pot for the herbs Jaime was collecting. The faintest blush of morn crept around the thin ox hide covering the window, and the drone of Andrew’s numbers sent her mind astray. A wisp of black smoke held her gaze, and the bitter smell of herbs set Akira’s stomach in motion.

  She’d been ill every morn for ten consecutive days. A child grew in her belly, the MacLeod heir. More than anything, Akira wanted a brood of bairns to run circles around their father’s legs. She played the scene out in her head often, and more than once she’d made plans to tell Calin. But the preparations for the pending war seemed to preoccupy the majority of his thoughts. Tonight, she vowed. Tonight she would tell him about the babe. And before he went to battle, she would tell him exactly how she felt about him. She could no longer deny it. She was in love with him.

  “Akira, ye look pale.”

  Akira heard her sister’s words, but could do little to respond with her heart in her throat and her stomach churning.

  “Andrew, keep counting. I’ll be back-a-ten.”

  Akira burst through the small door of the cot-house and emptied her stomach onto the leaf-covered ground. Clutching her gut and holding tight to the birch tree, she heard Jaime step up behind her.

  “Ye need anything, lass?” Jaime asked as he rubbed her back with the hand not holding two bundles of wilted herbs. Shaking her head in response, she sucked in cool autumn air until her breathing regulated.

  “Have ye told Calin ye are with child yet?”

  Akira shook her head again, vowing to never trust Isobel with a secret again.

  “Think ye the mon should know before he goes off to war?”

  Akira wiped her mouth with the back of her hand then offered Jaime a pitiful smile. “I dinnae wish to add to his worries, but I intend to tell him.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight.” Akira’s smile matched Jaime’s.

  “He will be verra pleased. As will Aunt Wanda.”

  The nausea typically eased immediately, but another rumble rolled through her belly. What seemed odder, she heard pounding in her ears. Standing upright, she looked at Jaime. His pinched brows told her he heard the noise too, which was impossible. How could he hear the queasiness in her gut?

  But the sound pulsing her innards was not her bodily protests. The thunder of hoofbeats vibrated the ground beneath her bare feet. Akira followed Jaime’s wide eyes over the valley and saw the riders. A cloud of dust billowed behind at least a dozen Kinnon warriors.

  Within seconds, they were close enough for her to recognize one of The Beast’s sentries. Jaime tossed the herbs into a heap on the ground then unsheathed his claymore. “Go inside. Dinnae be afraid, lass.”

  “Are ye insane? Ye intend to fight them? There are too many. Ye are but one mon.”

  “Go!” Jaime yelled and gave her an encouraging push.

  Akira rushed to the useless cover of the cot-house.

  “What is it?” Isobel asked as Akira helped her to a sitting position at the edge of the bed.

  “Kinnon warriors.”

  “Rebels?”

  Akira shook her head and willed herself to be calm. The water she had set to warm now boiled and filled the room with damp steam. Andrew raced to the window, wooden sword drawn. Akira heard the nickers of horses prancing just outside the door. “Move aside. We’ve come for the witch,” a man announced.

  Witch.

  The word that haunted her childhood echoed in her ears.

  She moved closer to the door. Age-old panic surfaced behind her breast.

  “There is nay witch here, and ye are trespassing on MacLeod soil,” Jaime defended.

  “We come by order of Laird Kinnon and will not leave without the witch. Now move aside or die.”

  The scrape of a sword being pulled from its scabbard lifted the hair on Akira’s neck. Isobel sucked in an audible breath as her hands flew to her mouth. “Jaime.”

  A thump on the thatch roof prefaced the crackle that soon followed.

  Jaime burst through the door just as the tinge of smoke filtered through the rafters. He pulled Isobel to his chest with one arm and scanned the small room. When Akira saw the look of failure in his aqua-blue eyes, her heart hammered against her ribs. The situation at hand left no time for words. Smoke already filled the ceiling and orange flecks of burnt thatch and ash floated weightlessly around them.

  “Andrew, swing your sword at anything that moves.”

  Isobel held tight to Jaime’s neck as they ran toward the doorway.

  “Stay at my back. I will fight them off while ye make a break for Calin’s stallion,” Jaime instructed Akira.

  “With Isobel in your arms?” Akira asked and felt the helplessness of the situation wash over her.

  “Hold tight to my belt. I’ll protect ye with God at my side.” Jaime jerked her up tight behind him and rushed over the threshold of the burning cot-house.

  The warriors awaited them, building an impregnable wall of horseflesh. Their steeds blew clouds of fog from their nostrils, which only added to the chaos. Jaime set Isobel on the ground and then swung his sword wide as he attempted to back Akira in the direction of Calin’s stallion. Amid the confusion, the drone of the flame-engulfed cot-house, and the biting pitch of Isobel’s screams, Akira lost her grip on Jaime’s belt. Andrew’s small hands disappeared from her kirtle. A hand wrenched her back by her hair. A stealthy forearm gripped her beneath the arms and then hoisted her up in the saddle in front of him. She swiveled to watch a warrior slap the flat side of his sword against Jaime’s temple. A stream of blood spewed from his mouth just before he sank to the ground at Isobel’s feet. In a panic, Akira screamed, “Send for Calin!”

  The horse reared then all four hooves left the ground.

  Calin sharpened his sgian dubh on a flat rock outside the chapel where Father Harrald administered the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Soul-cleansed warriors, preparing their bodies for war, had cycled through the kirk for two days. His garrison was prepared, and MacLeod warriors arrived in droves over the past sennight. The Donalds awaited the signal in the northwest, and Kendrick had sent instructions to the members of the rebellion. The vengeance that had consumed his life would soon come to pass, but, more so, he ached to be free of his secrets. Akira needed to know that Laird Kinnon sired her. If something went awry during the battle, he didn’t want her secret still tucked inside his soul.

  The horn sounded from the tower, breaking his thoughts. A falcon circled overhead. Both signaled an approaching rider. Sirius appeared through the entrance of the gatehouse, barreling at a full-blown gallop. Calin jumped to his feet and studied the scene. A crop of blond hair bobbed behind the stallion’s head. Andrew was bent over the mane of the warhorse clutching the reins and bellowing in high pitches. A sense of dread shot through his core, and the unknowing wreaked havoc on his mind.

  “M’laird, they ran Jaime down with a sword and took m’lady!” Andrew cried out, tears filling the bottoms of his eyes. Calin didn’t pause to ask questions. He yanked Andrew out of the saddle and mounted the prancing warhorse. Setting Sirius back into motion, Calin kicked its flanks and raced through the barbican. Whoever had taken her would weep for death when he finished with them. He didn’t care who they were or how big their number, he would kill them all. He drove Sirius hard over the valley, the reins digging grooves into his palms.

  Terror thickened in his gullet to the degree he nearly choked with every pummel of hooves. Gray smoke mixed with the clouds above the healer’s cot-house and tinged the air with an acidic smell. When he crested the hill, all four hooves left the ground. Then through the haze emerged Jaime with Isobel draped over his arms. A stain of crims
on touched his temple, but, thank the saints, he was alive.

  Before Sirius came to a halt on the slope of the knoll, Jaime had faltered twice beneath Isobel’s weight. Calin dismounted and rushed to his cousin’s aid. “Let me help ye.”

  Calin gently lifted Isobel from Jaime’s arms. “Are ye hurt, lass?”

  Isobel shook her head, fear puckering her face. “Ye must go after her, m’laird. They called her a witch.”

  “Who called her a witch? Where is Akira?” Calin could barely swallow.

  Jaime nodded in the opposite direction. “Kinnon warriors took her. The Beast’s blackguards. I tried—”

  “How many?” Calin interrupted, now terrified.

  “A dozen. Mayhap more.”

  Before Calin could form another question, a multitude of warriors were upon them. Both MacLeod kinsmen and Kinnon rebels were armed and ready for orders, Gordon led the assembly with Kendrick at his side. Calin sat a trembling Isobel in the empty saddle of a steed beside Alec. “Take her and Jaime back to the keep. Send for Aunt Wanda. Jaime needs tending.”

  “Nay. I’m going with ye,” Jaime protested and wrapped his hands around Isobel’s waist to bring her back out of the saddle. He pulled her tight, kissed her, and whispered in her ear.

  “I love ye, too. Please be careful and return to me,” Isobel responded quietly, tears flowing over her cheeks. Jaime placed her in the saddle in front of Alec then moved to clasp Calin’s forearm. His voice dropped low. “There is something else ye should know. I know it is a woman’s place to tell her husband, but if Akira were my wife I’d want to know.”

  Calin turned to him, their eyes on the same level. “What is it?”

  “Akira is with child.”

  Calin clutched his chest. “Oh God.” The weight of Jaime’s hand on his arm felt like a stone wall. His knees wobbled. He was going to be a father. A vivid picture of Akira holding his child flashed behind his eyes. Jaime gave him a brotherly pat that almost sent him to his knees and mounted. “Now, I’m going with ye.”

  Calin nodded his agreement and turned to his brethren. “I’m going after her. Who is with me?”

  The roaring agreement set him into motion. He mounted Sirius and focused on Gordon. “Prepare the clan. If we cannae reach her before they enter onto Kinnon soil, I will need the MacLeod warriors positioned outside Brycen Castle. The war has begun.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The smell had to be coming from the decaying carcass bound to the rock wall by all four limbs. Akira held the wool of her skirt over her nose and mouth to deaden her senses. The odd heat thickening the air ripened the stench that had been gagging her for nearly an hour now. She questioned how the dungeon of Brycen Castle could be so hot with no sign of a fire.

  The eeriness of this evil place filled her with dread, but she remained hopeful her husband would arrive soon. If only he could have caught them before Laird Kinnon’s warriors burned the bridge. She prayed Laird Kinnon would stay occupied while Calin traveled around the mouth of Loch Ceardach. Ten lifetimes wouldn’t be long enough for her to be free of the man’s appalling presence.

  Remembering the way he’d lifted her skirts to inspect her birthmark made her shiver. Though grateful the moment of humiliation passed quickly, what disturbed her more was Laird Kinnon’s reaction to her. She expected him to order her burned straightaway, but he looked at her with the light of recognition in his demon’s eyes. The Beast’s expression of delight made her recoil in fear.

  Could his curious smile have stemmed from some perverse excitement he received from torturing his captives? Or did he know she was sister and wife to the men who sought his destruction? The chilling questions were too horrifying to pay heed. She had to escape.

  The iron clasp around her ankle chaining her to the stone floor would prove to make that goal unachievable. A single torch lit the bottom two stone steps leading to freedom. The slightest illumination reflected off the damp floor where a woman lay curled into a ball. Soiled bare feet peeked out from what remained of her bloodstained chemise. Her hair had been hacked off close to her scalp with the exception of a few straggled locks hiding her face and neck. Akira had touched the woman’s back only moments earlier, but the simple show of affection caused her to jump so intensely Akira regretted startling her.

  Was it possible the woman weeping beside her had been accused of witchcraft, as well?

  Akira shook her head, answering her own question. This woman was no witch. Though her woeful mumbling could’ve just as easily been a plea to the Pagan gods, Akira knew those words. They were not of black magic. They were of prayer. The woman begged forgiveness for her adulterated sins and pleaded with her Maker to take her away from such an evil world. With her hands folded piously beneath her face, her body convulsed and rocked back and forth. Akira called out to her again. The woman’s only response, a woeful repentance. The baritone voice of another prisoner hollered from the darkness. “Your God cannae protect ye in here. Now, cease your weepin’, else they’ll cut out your tongue.”

  Placing a protective hand over her stomach, Akira feared what might happen to the child Calin didn’t know about and quite possibly never would. Her situation seemed hopeless. There was no way out of this dungeon. With hot tears rolling freely over her face, Akira flattened her palm on the warm floor beside the woman. “Lend me your hand, and we can try to help each other.”

  The woman’s hand crept out from underneath her. The tip of her pinkie finger had been cut off at the second knuckle and then burned to seal the wound. Akira’s heart jolted at the sight. Bruises and cuts circled her wrists where she’d been bound and grime filled the tips of chewed-off nails. Akira swallowed hard and accepted the mangled hand drenched with tears.

  “Are ye a witch?” Akira asked, part of her hoping the woman possessed the power to free them from this sweltering prison. The woman’s head shook against the stone floor. “I am my father’s whore.”

  “Please, come to me.”

  She crawled across the floor, her heavy chain scraping with the action. Her cheek fell against Akira’s plaid, and her fingers twisted around the folds of Akira’s kirtle. “Pray forgive me, m’lady, for the sins I have committed against you.”

  Though confused by her words, Akira brushed her thick chunks of hair then raised her chin to comfort her. Akira recognized Catriona’s gray eyes in the pale glow of torchlight. The single breath Akira inhaled tightened like a shard of glass in her throat. She released Catriona’s chin. Her breathing intensified tenfold. Her sympathetic heart had ached for the woman who cried to her father and cursed him at the same time. A woman who asked God to reunite her with her dead mother. The same woman who set out to ruin her life now clutched at her waist, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. She’d been tortured and probably raped, and part of Akira wanted to believe she deserved it.

  With her mind a deluge of whirling emotions, Akira questioned why God would couple them in such a horrific place. Then the answer struck her like a revelation. God. He was testing her, and she would not fail Him. Akira wouldn’t deny Catriona. Enemy or not, no one deserved such animalistic cruelty. She pushed past her hate and gripped Catriona’s shoulders to embrace her. “If my forgiveness is what ye seek, then ’tis yours, but we must work together to leave this place alive.”

  Catriona raised Akira’s hand to the side of her face. “I have nothing to live for. I can only pray for a merciful death.”

  “How can ye say such a thing?” Akira forced Catriona to sit beside her and dried her cheeks.

  “The elders have agreed to banish me from Clan MacLeod. My fate lies at the hands of your King James. If he chooses to spare my life for crimes against kin and country, he will return me to England, to my father and my king. I am barren and am no worth to any man. ’Tis why King Henry gifted me to Calin. My father knew I would never produce an heir. When Calin didn’t accept me as his wife, I feared my return back to England.”

  “Why would ye not want to return to your home?” />
  Catriona’s face fell into her hands. “My father is greedy and cruel. He will not part with his monies or lands for my dowry because I cannot provide my husband an heir. He saves his wealth for his sons and prostitutes me to his gentry. I’d rather die than return to him. I have never known love or compassion from him or any man.”

  Akira couldn’t stop herself from empathizing. Catriona had been sold by her own father and abused in ways more brutal than a man’s fist. “Then mayhap ’tis time ye knew compassion from a woman.”

  “But I am the reason you are here. I told Laird Kinnon where to find you.”

  “There are many things I struggle to understand about ye, Catriona. But hear me when I tell ye, I would have given up my enemy if someone took a blade to my finger.”

  Catriona gave an unladylike snort, revealing the side of her that probably kept her alive. “I am not worthy of your flattery, m’lady. Do not think me so strong. I forfeited your location after they cut off my hair and placed a blade to my breast…then they raped and tortured me anyway.”

  “They’ll not hurt ye again. I promise ye,” Akira assured her, not yet knowing how she would keep that vow. Catriona’s brow stitched together. A hopeful glint almost brought color to her eyes. “Then you are a witch. Might you conjure white magic?”

  “Nay.” Akira wiped the sweat from her brow and wondered briefly how the air could have possibly gotten hotter, then a shadow moved in the darkness. Glowing feline eyes winked at her from black folds of emptiness. Her heart flittered.

  “But ye have the power to convince the laird ye are a witch.” A hushed voice spoke to her from the pitch. Catriona jumped and sidled up beside Akira, trembling.

  “Who are ye? Show yourself,” Akira demanded.

  A figure garbed in a dark wool rounded the rock wall. Cats circled around deerskin boots. Most of the figure’s face hid behind a hood, but when the person squatted in front of them, Akira realized he was a boy. Mayhap even a man, but no taller than she, and gangly. He absently scratched the gray ears of a purring cat with a hand puckered from fire. When he pushed back his hood, she gaped at his appearance. A long scar drew a pink line from his temple to his chin. Dark, thin hair laid flat against his scalp, yet didn’t hide the fact that he was missing an ear.